


the affections of annie edison

by usoverlooked



Category: Community
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-22
Updated: 2013-02-22
Packaged: 2017-12-03 07:08:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/695576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/usoverlooked/pseuds/usoverlooked
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You're Annie Edison and you're in love with a boy. (alternately: three times Annie didn't get it quite right and one time she did)</p>
            </blockquote>





	the affections of annie edison

You’re Annie Edison, barely seventeen and more than slightly in love with Troy Barnes. You have bad acne and some nights you forgo sleep because you’re reading Wikipedia articles on serial killers in history instead. That might be partially due to the Adderall you swallow more often than anyone know.

Troy is funny. He makes these comments in class and during pep assemblies and they make you smile. One time he saw you, smiling after he said something, and winked. You sit behind him in algebra and memorize his neck. There’s a birthmark just before where his hair starts and some days you have to sit on your hands to resist running your finger down through his hair to it. His hair, when it gets too long, sticks up at odd angles – as if he was sleeping on it just before class. You like to imagine that – him suddenly waking up and tugging on his school clothes, maybe looking forward to seeing you in algebra. It’s silly, you know, because Troy barely knows you exist.

Troy is nice. But the fact remains that he doesn’t know you. Once, he asked for a red pen because that’s what Mr. Hendricks requires for corrections on assignments. Except, he called you Ann, not Annie and it’s a stupid thing but no one except your Aunt Gina calls you Ann and it bothers you. Later, when the Adderall takes over and you start going to classes only part-time, he doesn’t make fun of you. At least, not to your face, and that should count for something. But you still cry at night sometimes because that first day you walked back into algebra, Troy scooted his desk forward when you sat down. But it doesn’t matter because love is hard and you’ve seen enough eighties movies to know that you can’t love each other from day one.

You’re Annie Edison, very nearly twenty and more than a little infatuated with Vaughn Miller. You have flowers in your hair more often than not now and some nights you stay up too late talking to him about the stars and rebirths. This is more than entirely because sometimes he sings to you over the phone line and your heart jumps into your throat.

Vaughn is sweet. He calls you ‘moon blossom’ and smiles at you a lot. There is a day where he cuts whatever class he has (Advanced Astronomy – you find this out later) and hangs signs outside of your pottery class that just have a huge drawing of a flower and your name. It warms your heart and you think this is what all those girls in school meant. Not that you really were involved in conversations like that, your mother decreed that sort of talk as unnecessary so you spent most of your time studying but sometimes you went to the movies and before the girls you were with would talk about how this boy in Spanish or French or chemistry gave them a ride home or complimented their hair.

Vaughn is good. Except, sometimes you say something jokingly and he gives you this look. It takes you a moment but you realize he doesn’t get what you mean. So you shut up because you hate it when his brow crinkles in confusion. He tries, really tries, when you make dumb little comments or try too hard at something, to understand you. But he really doesn’t and you know this deep in the pit of your stomach. So you bury it beneath a smile and go cheer him on at hacky-sack competitions. Love doesn’t mean fully understanding each other; you know that differences make a relationship interesting.

You’re Annie Edison, just over twenty-two and pretty much head over heels for Jeff Winger. You try to act older and some nights you spend time going through old court cases because his name is in them. This may lead to you knowing way too much about the legal system and being really annoying when you watch “Ally McBeal” with Abed and Troy.

Jeff is impressive. He smiles at you sometimes and you think your whole world revolves around that for a minute. He spins these arguments, about anything if the mood strikes him, which pushes whoever he’s against back down and then he smirks like he owns the room – and maybe he does. One day Jeff gives you his jacket and another he buys you a drink, because he cares. You know he does, despite all the stupid drama surrounding it; otherwise he wouldn’t do these things. Conditional statements, if x happens then y is true, has always been your strong point. If Jeff loves you, he will do these things. Conversely, if he does not love you, he would not do these things. It’s simple.

Jeff is clever. There’s these comments he makes, sometimes at you but mostly at Troy and Abed, and they’re witty. But they sort of hurt, because sometimes they’re comments about things you do or love and so you wonder why he’s so mean about it. He doesn’t mean much by it, you know that, but the other half of this is that Britta always chuckles at these comments. That’s how you know that Jeff will never be fully yours. Britta will always own a piece of him, along with Slater and a dozen other women probably. Which is fine, really, except it isn’t. But that’s love, maybe, imperfect and belittling at times but other times great.

You’re Annie Edison, twenty-four and happy. You wear floral even when in your lab and everyone teases you about that and the fact that you alphabetize everything – but it’s the sort of teasing you can handle because you know their stupid little quirks too. You stay up some nights because there’s this case you just want to finish or because one of the detectives invited you out for a drink with the gang. This causes you to make sure you go to bed on time most nights – even skipping the occasional “Inspector Spacetime” marathon with the boys.

You are smart. Maybe you aren’t the very best in your field, but you’re damn good and you can take long weekends if there are no fresh cases. You spend these long weekends at flea markets and on road trips – with Britta or Troy and Abed or occasionally the whole study group – usually to nearby towns. One weekend, when you get days off from Thursday to Tuesday and Troy doesn’t take any substituting gigs for those days, you and the boys drive all the way to the Grand Canyon. It’s touristy and sort of a letdown – there’s literally only two restaurants where the food doesn’t cost so much that Troy cries at the price list. But you enjoy it and there’s a picture of the three of you – you between them with the canyon gaping behind you – which you later tack next to your computer.

You are free. There are boys that you go on dates with, but you keep your heart close to you. You work hard and spend weekends with friends – even Jeff, because you see him without those rose-colored glasses and he still buys you drinks and now you notice that he also buys Abed box sets of dvds and laugh at what you used to think. You bump into Vaughn and your gut doesn’t clench, you just make small talk and bid him good-bye. You don’t know what love is, not the romantic kind at least. But that’s okay because you know about the sappy, silly family love. You know that it comes in the form of midnight movie premieres, in the form of grabbing a coffee before work with someone who tries to give you a leather jacket, in the form of cookbooks and legal advice and sending you dumb email forwards that you saw months ago. So you don’t love a boy. But that’s alright, because you love your life.

**Author's Note:**

> I just want Ballerannie to be happy.


End file.
